"Garbage Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mccarthy Wil)

"I've got impulsiveness issues," Conrad answered with a laugh. "You should be
glad I'm thinking at all."
That seemed to make Bascal angry. "Your parents are what, a hundred years old?
Two hundred? Fucking experts on the subject of impulsiveness."
"Actually, it was my school Ч "
"Well, to hell with your school. This is exactly why there are cities like
Denver, where they at least make an effort. Parents ought to be forced to live
here. It ought to be mandatory."
A thought occurred: "Maybe you should be in charge of the Children's Cities,
guy."
But Bascal just grunted derisively. "Bring that bill before the Senate, hmm?
I'll be fifty before they're finished debating. And still a child in their
eyes."
"But your parents Ч "
This time, it was Bascal's fist on his shoulder, slugging. "Will you shut up?
You are wrecking my mood. It's tiresome."
Ho Ng sidled up, showing fists of his own. "No pissing off the prince,
bloodfuck. I'm going to pound somebody, and it might be you."
"Steady," Bascal said, holding up a hand. "We have common purpose here."
"What purpose?" Feck wanted to know. "We appear to be at the limits of the known
Universe."
"Why, revolution," Bascal answered casually, pointing at one of the buildings.
"Starting right there."



3. The Wellwood Deception



Revolution. Wow. Fuck. Was that a metaphor? Because tempting as the idea might
seem, fourteen fourteen-year-old refugees from summer camp couldn't do much
against a whole Queendom, with its police and truant officers, its infinite
supply of infinitely patient robots, and of course its billions of satisfied
citizens in their tens of billions of instantiations. Even if the boys
commandeered a fax machine and printed up an army of themselves, the
Constabulary would simply shut down the entire area, round the boys up, and
reconverge their many copies back into single individuals. The odds were so
hopeless Ч and the threat of punishment so dire Ч that nobody had ever even
tried it.
"I thought we were just looking for girls," Conrad said, to no one in
particular. And that was who replied: no one.
As the buildings approached, it became clear that the river had a good bank and
bad bank: one side facing the city and backing to the suburbs, while the other
had a nice mountain view, but butted up against the bad neighborhood and so
became bad by association. The most questionable of the buildings was an ancient
two-story cafe whose shabby appearance was not an act, but the result of a
natural wood facade that had stopped looking luxurious a few decades before
Conrad was born. This, not surprisingly, was exactly where Bascal led them.
The cafe had a scattering of plastic tables and benches and chairs in front and